


Cultivating a Habit

by Empy (Empyreus)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Addiction, Apologies, Bruises, Comfort, Habits, Hiddlesworth, Inspired by Photography, Kissing, Lies, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Photo Calls, Photo Shoots, Punishment, Red Carpets, Showers, Touching, based on a picture set, ships that sail themselves, they're not even trying to be subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:29:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/pseuds/Empy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a habit. That's all there is to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cultivating a Habit

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this set of pictures: <http://i.imgur.com/tS9MJo6.png> (NB: the fic makes no sense if you haven't seen the pictures, so please have a look at them first!)  
> Originally posted on Tumblr on November 27th 2012.
> 
> One minute, I'm looking at the pictures and smiling and nodding. The next, I'm typing. Oh well, it was only a question of time before I wrote RPF in this fandom in addition to just reading it.

“Like this?” he asks the photographers, awkwardly setting his hand on Tom’s shoulder and feeling his fingers curl in toward his palm reflexively when Tom simply wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him closer. No hesitation on Tom’s part at all.

It becomes a pattern after that. A habit. A reflex.

He’ll settle his hand on Tom’s shoulder (bolder now, never awkward, his palm moulding along the familiar curve like they were two pieces of the same puzzle), and Tom will, without fail, grab him by the waist. It becomes a fixed point for all its movement, something they both cling to during the loudest points of the photo calls and red carpet appearances. Tom’s hand trailing over the small of his back to grip him by the waist becomes a comfort to him, and he never hesitates to drape his arm over Tom’s shoulders to pull him close. If he possibly can, he’ll make sure his fingers brush Tom’s neck.

He tells himself he does it to ground himself. To remind himself that there’s at least one living person by his side when the mass of press and fans becomes an unsettling heaving sea of people demanding his attention with a single roaring voice. He tells himself that’s all there is to it. That it’s a habit they slipped into and that’s comfortable. He also tells himself that he’s surprised when Tom backs him into a secluded corner at one of the many publicity event after-parties and simply kisses him.

Of the many lies he’s told himself since he met Tom, that — _well, that was unexpected_ — one really is one of the worse ones. The worst? “Just this once.” Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence and when the third time rolls around, it’s already addiction burning in his veins.

In Moscow, when the jet lag jitters in his bones and makes him restless, he almost overdoes it. His hold borders on desperate, knuckle-whitening and greedy, and it leaves bruises along Tom’s collarbone. He can feel Tom’s hold on his waist tighten in response, then loosen, as though he was searching for some kind of equilibrium. “Sorry,” he breathes, letting go. Tom merely smiles, but he knows that smile and knows that little glitter in Tom’s eyes.

It’s a smile that means the apology is accepted but that his actions will have repercussions.

Retaliation was inevitable, he thinks when he stands in the shower the next morning and runs his fingers over the evenly spaced bruises on his hips, but only Tom could make it so enjoyable. A bruise for a bruise and then one on the house, and now it’s Chris’s move. Smiling, he closes his eyes. Time to formulate a strategy.


End file.
